


Here Comes Another Storm

by kilolightyear (keylimefloat)



Category: VICTON (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Meet-Cute, bookstore encounter, idk how to tag send help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24636463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keylimefloat/pseuds/kilolightyear
Summary: Third time’s a charm, or so they say, but Subin is sure that’s far from true. He can feel it. He’s going to encounter yet another incident that will allow his anger to snowball, and in no way will he be able to let it simmer, not for another week at least.
Relationships: Choi Byungchan/Jung Subin
Comments: 25
Kudos: 48
Collections: Lucky 7 Victon





	Here Comes Another Storm

Third time’s a charm, or so they say, but Subin is sure that’s far from true. He can feel it. He’s going to encounter yet another incident that will allow his anger to snowball, and in no way will he be able to let it simmer, not for another week at least.

He pushes open the library doors, bag slung over his right shoulder while he twirls his lanyard of keys and keychains with his left hand. One of his classmates is calling after him, apologizing profusely and urging him to turn around and come back. The call only stops when Subin turns around, glares for a few seconds, then rotates again and stalks off.

Every now and then, the bag slips off his shoulder and he has to readjust it, but the more he does so, the more the weight seems to pull at his shoulder. When he encounters a park on the street and spots a bench, he immediately runs over and sits down, taking his bag off and placing it in his lap. He lets out an exasperated sigh when he sees none of the pockets are zipped up, probably due to the pent up frustration that rushed his leave. The bag is slightly ragged from the times he’s flung it across his room or just let it fall from his shoulders as he slipped into a seat during class or meals at the canteen, but he can’t bother buying another one either. At least not when it’s still usable. Afraid of messing it up any further, he takes out a few books to hold in his hand, hoping the lessened weight will prevent his bag from completely falling apart.

Subin gets back on the path toward the subway with his belongings in tow. Whereas the rays of the sun were peeking out from the hilltops when he left the library, none can be seen now. Instead, the streets are illuminated by the dimmed sky and street lights, his shadow extending in front of him as time passes.

One of the stores he walks by has their lights out—way sooner than any of the other stores on the street—but he fails to notice until he walks by and the insides are lit up. He backtracks a few steps, perplexed by the change in the lighting and stares at the door—it’s clearly open, ready to welcome new customers. The neon pink sign that reads “OPEN” hangs on the window—it looks brand new, probably a day old, because he’s never seen this store in all his life. The store itself seems ordinary, a small and cozy bookstore with rows and rows of books. It looks simple and clean, which he likes.

He walks in with small and dainty steps, his eyes peering at the floor and then up every few seconds to prevent himself from stepping on something he shouldn’t or bumping into something and knocking things over. As a broke undergraduate student, there’s no way he can afford to pay for store damage.

Subin turns left and into an aisle of books; he twists his head to find a row of English classics. Just what he needs, just what he _would have_ gotten from the library for _free_ had it not been for his incompetent classmates who couldn’t even sit down for a proper discussion of the architectural meanings behind Hearst Castle. Now he’s in a bookstore he has never seen or even heard of, all because he was kicked out of his safe haven. (He willingly walked away, but it was his classmates’ inefficiency that drove him out).

He hears a thud from the back of the store, which causes him to whip his head in the direction of the noise. None of the shelves in his field of vision have tipped over and the walkways are still cleared of any possible fallen books. He spots a door in the back but it’s shut tight.

Subin is starting to regret entering a foreign bookstore. What if this is a gateway to some underground business? What if he gets entangled in drama on the streets and someday disappears without getting the chance to tell his family and friends where he’s even going? He should have known not to enter, not without contacting someone—anyone, even his idiotic classmates—about his whereabouts. Or even share his location with his roommates. Anything, really. Anything to diminish the possibility of his death. Anything to at least _warn_ others about the evildoers occupying this place and-

“Hey.” Subin shrieks when he sees a head pop up from behind the counter, one he hadn’t noticed upon entering the bookstore. He is beyond shocked, surprised there’s even anyone in this store. When he first entered, he had done a quick surveillance of the area in close proximity, not spotting a shadow in sight. When he had heard the crash earlier, he did a more careful search and still hadn’t seen anyone. If there were people in the store, he would have expected them to come from the back.

The other thing that makes him do a double take is the person standing in front of him. Tall, a bit lanky but still well built, a pretty face, a sky blue beret sitting on the person’s head. He scrunches his nose. After his brain taking a form of its own and winding to places unknown, he’d expected an old man to be sitting there. Even if not old, someone who looked sketchy and sleazy. Instead, the male standing in front of him is young, every inch of his face sculpted like a model. Maybe he is one. He looks a year or two older than himself, not… whatever he had expected.

The stranger takes his look of disgust the wrong way and begins to panic. “Am I ugly? Did my beret get ruined?” He pauses to take it off and peers at it, frowning a little when he sees nothing. Subin wants to ask why but he forgets when the male continues. “Oh, did I rip my shirt somehow? I must have, since there are so many needles poking out from these old bookshelves,” he mutters. He looks down, and then back up and gasps. “Is it my face?”

“Yes.” Subin covers his mouth as soon as the answer leaves his lip. He hadn’t meant to insult his face. He would never insult his face.

The other scrambles to look for something—Subin has no clue what it is—his hands touching every corner of the counter.

“The mirror,” he mutters. “ _Where_ is my mirror?”

Subin clears his throat to make the other aware of his presence again. He knows nothing about customer service but he does think he should at least be acknowledged. Greeted properly, perhaps.

“Ah right!” The male looks up and does a slight bow, his bangs covering his eyes slightly as he does so. “Nice to meet you, I’m Byungchan, owner of the new bookstore!”

“Owner?” Subin is shocked. There’s no way someone who looks that young could be the _owner_.

“Yeah!” Byungchan gives him a puzzled look. “Is there anything wrong?”

“I mean-” He waves his arms in the air helplessly, trying to create a gesture that conjures up a proper way to phrase it. “You’re so- you look so young.” His voice diminishes, the uncertainty shaking his voice. Maybe this is an offensive remark for the guy—he really can’t tell at this point.

“I am!” Byungchan crosses his arms, huffing in dissatisfaction before he continues. “I’m only 23. Unless you kids think even 23-year-olds are hags now. If so, please leave.” He points to the door, as if to say, _You’re not welcome back here_.

Subin only stares with a puzzled look, unable to come up with a response that would _not_ make him sound like an idiot.

Realizing Subin has bought his words seriously, Byungchan rushes to retract his statement. “Wait, I’m just kidding. I didn’t mean to scare you off. Sorry-”

“I’m Subin, 21.” He reaches out to offer a handshake, which Byungchan takes, maybe a bit too enthusiastically. When he lets go, Subin starts unconsciously rubbing his hand to ease the pain. The other, too focused on his face, fails to notice the arising discomfort.

“So, Subin,” Byungchan starts. “Did you want to find anything in particular? Or are you just here to look around. He props his elbows on the counter, chin nested between his palms. _Like a flower_ , Subin thinks. Any other thought about to enter his brain is kicked away when the older changes position, his chin still resting on one hand as he drums his fingers on the table. He tries to avoid the fact that Byungchan is flashing him a cheeky smile while giving off an annoyed aura. It’s intimidating, to say the least.

At the same time, he can’t bring himself to share what he’s looking for. From prior experiences, salespeople have always had a weird way with words. The customer tells them they want one thing and then they guide them to it. They watch the customer study the product, and if they show even a hint of dissatisfaction, they begin to sell it aggressively. When the customer finally nods and says they want to buy it, they start recommending another product. Then another product. It goes on until they’re flipped off, or until there’s a new customer awaiting to be pestered—unknowingly, of course.

Or maybe he can. Byungchan looks normal and acts normal, albeit a tad bit too cheerful. He dresses his age, he thinks; he gives the male’s outfit a quick glance to make sure his judgment is true. A sky blue silk top matched with a pair of khaki pants. (He looks cute, Subin thinks). Besides, if Byungchan mentioned he’s near Subin’s age and is a _bookstore_ owner, it’s highly unlikely he would be weird about it. He would probably be straightforward with his directions, and Subin could grab what he wants and leave right away.

He decides against it, trying to avoid the slim chance of being bothered until the store closes. “I’m good, just looking around.” Byungchan raises his eyebrow in doubt but leaves him be and goes back to organizing the counter.

Subin wanders around, landing himself back amongst the shelves of English classics. His fingers travel to the top shelf, and he squints to read the titles on the spines. Not what he’s looking for. But he still grabs one and flips through it, the corners of his lips rising as the faint scent of paper reaches his nose. He puts it back; he doesn’t have the time to read it now, but hopefully it will still be here the next time he comes by. If he ever does come back. If the store is still open by then.

He drops his hand to the shelf below, tracing the spines of each book. Some titles have more texture—bumpy and sometimes even sandy—others are smooth, printed directly onto the binding. He finds the book he wants, but when he looks up to see Byungchan perched on a stool, reading a book without even glancing up at his surroundings, he decides he’ll come back to pick it up later.

For now, he wants to play a game. To see if Byungchan really is the bookstore owner or if he’s bluffing. Maybe he’s just posing, not actually reading the book in his hand.

Subin weaves through the shelves, landing himself in one of the back corners. When he turns his head to peek at Byungchan, the older still looks lost in the words of his book. He narrows his eyes, unconvinced despite how real it seems. He faces the wall again to think about what Byungchan could be. Maybe the older is a model who was dragged in by the _actual_ bookstore owner to attract more customers, especially because most of the stores on this particular street have been here for at least a decade, with regulars making up most of their revenues.

Or maybe Byungchan is a spy. A pretty face, dressed in elegant but casual clothing, a cheerful voice, young and enthusiastic. The perfect image for deceiving a wide audience. A pretty face for older women to coo at, decent outfits for girls to unreasonably squeal about, the face of a youth to promote a friendly atmosphere and welcome even male students to come in and take a look. Overall, a front for whatever is going on behind the scenes.

He tries to think of the store that was here before. He walks this street every week, so there’s no way he can forget. Or so he thinks. There are twenty stores on this block, but he only really remembers the coffee shop and the ice cream shop. With the bookstore smack in the middle of the row of shops and him being in a rush on most days when he walks by, it’s impossible to remember what was here before. No wonder he has never noticed the store, and it explains why there are no other customers when it should be the busiest in the evening.

Sneaking another look at Byungchan, he decides to walk over. He treads slowly, careful not to make any sounds and taking a path to avoid his shadow looming eerily on the ground. As he knocks on the counter, the older looks up curiously.

“What’s up? Are you leaving?”

Subin shakes his head. “There’s a book I’ve been trying to find, but I don’t know where to start looking.”

Byungchan raises an eyebrow. “Haven’t you been wandering from shelf to shelf for a while now?” Still, he puts down the book in his hand and grabs a pen and paper.

_Has he predicted which book I’m getting? Is he writing instructions for me?_

“Which one are you looking for?”

_Ah, I guess not._ “The Great Gatsby.”

“The _what_?” Byungchan sounds shocked, and Subin can’t blame him for reacting the way he did, not when he doesn't look like someone who would bother reading that in his own free time. He doesn’t even think he would bother glancing at it, if not for a specific purpose.

“The Great Gatsby,” he repeats. “Is it that weird?”

“I mean-” Byungchan begins. “I guess not. But it’s usually high schoolers who are assigned this reading, right? But then again,” he continues, waving his arms, “it’s not bad. A lot of symbolism.”

“Don’t worry, I only wanted to buy it to reminisce about my high school memories.”

Byungchan scrunches his nose. “High school wasn’t even fun. And it’s distant.”

Subin hums. “Too old to remember what happened a few years ago?” He teases.

“I-” He slips the piece of paper he had been writing on earlier toward Subin. “Just go. I don’t have time to be clowned for my age,” he sighs dramatically. And just like that, he picks up the book on the counter, returning back to reading. Subin takes the piece of paper and stalks off, a little upset for feeling too comfortable around Byungchan when they met not even an hour ago.

He turns the corner to disappear from Byungchan’s sight and looks at the paper closely. So Byungchan is either the actual bookstore owner or he is just _really_ good at playing his role. Subin still thinks it’s the latter.

_Left side of the store, third row from the front, fourth shelf from the bottom, probably in the middle of the row._ He really is too good at his job. Following the brief instructions, Subin lands himself back where he started, exactly where he found the book.

He had lied about wanting the book to recall his high school years earlier, but maybe he really will buy it now, just for fun. He grabs the book from the shelf and skips back to where Byungchan is sitting and slides it onto the counter.

“Checking out already?”

He shakes his head. “I’m keeping it here ‘cause I wanted to see if there’s anything else I want to buy. That okay with you?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I just thought…”

“You thought…?” Confusion and panic is what Subin feels at the moment. He feels like Byungchan is judging him for something, but he can’t quite pinpoint what it is. Or maybe he’s just overthinking. Yeah, that should be it.

“Never mind.” Byungchan shoots him a small smile, one that causes warmth to fill his cheeks. “So, did you have a specific book in mind, or are you going to wander around until you find something?”

“Um, I think I’ll just look around,” he lies. He dashes off before Byungchan can even open his mouth, and hides behind a shelf in the back, as far from the older as he can get.

For the next hour, he wanders around, sifting through nearly every shelf to find something he might like. Sometimes, he brings the book directly back to the counter and places it in the stack, where the copy of _The Great Gatsby_ he had taken earlier is sitting. Other times, he stares at a book for a while, then returns to Byungchan with the title, asking for where it is, despite knowing its location already. Byungchan, without fail, provides precise instructions every single trip.

With each request, Byungchan always strikes up a conversation. Always. He mostly asks why Subin wants to buy the book, sometimes even adding, “Are you sure you want to keep _that_ on your bookshelf?” Subin will argue back, and the older will just chuckle and shoo him away, urging him to find another book.

When Byungchan is _not_ questioning his selections, he tends to get a bit more sentimental. He dives into his childhood stories, or even his memories about reading each book that Subin picks out. Sometimes, when Subin giggles, he pouts in an irresistibly cute fashion. And when he pouts, Subin takes that as a cue to run away and get lost—not lost, just away from Byungchan—amongst the shelves to calm his pounding heart. As always, when he keeps a distance from the counter, Byungchan is reading. At times, he finds the older drawing in the books—or annotating, but he shudders at the thought.

He soon notices the time, realizing it’s way too late to be out. He stares at the stack of books he had collected and grimaces. He could probably get rid of more than half of these. He had only collected most of them to fool around with Byungchan, but he can already imagine a saddened Byungchan staring at him with droopy eyes, lips pulled into a frown if he were to put the books back. Maybe he’ll transform into a naggy salesperson when he attempts to return the books back to the shelves. Shaking the thought away, he focuses on how he can’t possibly afford that many books, and he definitely can’t carry that many while walking to the subway station. Even if he manages, someone on the subway is bound to push him, and the books will be ruined.

He tiptoes toward the counter and places a hand on top of his stack, slowly removing it and taking it back to where he had found it. He only takes a few steps when Byungchan calls out to him from behind.

“Subin, you can just separate the ones you want from the ones you don’t want. I’ll put them back later.”

Subin turns around and smiles meekly, ashamed of giving him false hope. “Sorry,” he mutters, “I was just messing with you.”

Byungchan’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “I figured. But I didn’t mind. It was quite fun, actually.” He winks, which makes the tips of Subin’s ears turn red.

“It wasn’t fun for me,” he mutters in frustration as he sorts the books. It was fun, way too fun.

“Hm?”

“Ah, nothing.” _What a way to embarrass yourself_ , he thinks. Heat blossoms in his cheeks as he feels Byungchan staring at him intently, and it feels like he’ll keep doing so until Subin leaves.

“Hey, do you live in the East Egg?”

Subin jumps back in surprise, accidentally dropping a book in the process.

“Oops,” he apologizes, but there isn’t a hint of guilt or sincerness in Byungchan’s voice. “But I want to know your answer to the question.”

“Do you stare at a lighthouse every night and yearn for something as you stare at a green light?” He shoots back.

Byungchan bursts into giggles but avoids answering his question. He grins and cocks his head. “Are you saying we’re not meant to be together? Because if yes, we can change that.”

Subin ignores the remark. “I’m leaving. I thought you were a spy, turns out you’re just a flirt,” he scowls.

“What do you- I _am_ a flirt, what are you saying?”

“You- Never mind. I have nothing to say.” On an impulse decision, he rushes out the door, running to the end of the block, not even stopping to check if there are any cars. Luckily, it’s way too late for most people to be out. There’s no one honking at him as he crosses the street, and when he finally reaches the other end, he lets out a sigh of relief.

He puts on his headphones and listens to music as he walks toward the station. He pretends his increasing heartbeat is from following the beat of the fast tempo, but he knows the real reason it’s beating so fast is because he keeps replaying Byungchan’s words in his head.

So maybe he wants to get to know him better. Is that so wrong? Less than three hours ago, he would have never thought of himself as the type to fall for someone’s words so fast. Now, here he is, wanting to spend just a few more hours talking to Byungchan. If anyone questions his choice, he could just say he’s talked to him for longer than he has to a majority of his classmates. Which is true, only that he never bothers talking to them.

He bites down on his lip and kicks a stone in his path which flies down the flight of the stairs leading to the station. From above, he can hear the screeching of the tires on the tracks, the hollow air blowing up each time a train comes and goes. Maybe he can walk back and apologize for walking out so suddenly. Or would that be weird? Should he thank him for his time instead? That sounds like something to be said after a date, not a coincidental encounter at a bookstore…

As he ponders, he finds his feet taking him down the steps, and he falls back into his (not really) daily routine. He stares at the clock to make sure his train is arriving soon, and stuffs a hand into his pocket to take out his wallet. His pocket is empty, and he slips into a corner to double check. Still nothing. Only a few pieces of paper stuffed into his jacket pocket, and his backpack only contains his laptop and books. He curses, realizing it’s definitely not with him.

Ah. He must have left it on the counter of the bookstore when he was about to pay. But he really can’t afford to go back now. One, the store is probably closed now, and two, he really doesn’t want to see Byungchan. Especially not right now. Nighttime is always an excellent time to make mistakes, and he refuses to make one today. He sighs and heads back up. Flagging down one of the few taxis still operating, he slides into the back, trying not to scowl as he looks at his account balance. He can make up for this expense another day.

* * *

The next morning, he wakes up extra early. Not that he should be doing so on a Sunday morning. Not because he wants to dress up for Byungchan or anything. No, definitely not.

After seeing Byungchan with a beret yesterday, he’s convinced he should also wear the one that’s been lying in his closet for months. It’s mint green, matching the color of his sweater. He’d thrown on some jeans—jeans can look good with a variety of outfits—and stuck to his sneakers, just in case he trips and falls or steps on something that could ruin his shoes.

He paces back and forth inside the coffee shop, waiting for his name to be called. The only other customer is a middle-aged woman typing away on her laptop, and when Subin’s gaze lingers for a little too long out of curiosity, she looks up and narrows her eyes, making him turn his head immediately, eyes wandering to anywhere else but there. He can feel the workers staring at him and whispering, probably judging him for being so dressed up, for being so antsy in a public setting.

When his order is done, he snatches it and exits, picking up his pace as he nears the bookstore. To his surprise, he finds Byungchan in front of the window, adjusting the “OPEN” sign. The older spots him almost immediately and waves excitedly, dropping the sign in the process. He ignores it and quickly strides toward the door, opening it for Subin.

“Hey.” It’s awkward, he can tell.

“Hey to you too,” the older chuckles. Okay, so maybe not that awkward. “You here for anything?” _He knows, he knows, he knows._

“Nope.” Subin grits his teeth and walks past Byungchan, not stopping until he reaches one of the shelves near the back. When he turns around, Byungchan is already back to fixing the sign in the front. The older finishes, and Subin quickly turns his head around to face the shelf, accidentally hitting his forehead on one of the edges. He stays still for a few seconds, waiting to make sure the sound of Byungchan’s shuffling footsteps fade, only moving when he hears the stool Byungchan sat on yesterday being dragged slightly on the floor. Carefully, he glances around to make sure he’s out of sight.

As soon as Subin grabs a random book off the shelf, flipping through the pages nonchalantly, he realizes it would look idiotic to be doing that with a novel, and breathes out a sigh of relief when the book cover displays the title of a nonfiction book on rabbits. He finds himself lucky to have landed himself in the nonfiction section. If there were an endless count of novels surrounding him, he probably would have accidentally started reading one, not willing to leave until he finished. Or worse, if a book series stood out to him. He refuses to imagine the consequences he would have to face if he did.

He sneaks another look at Byungchan, this time focusing on his outfit. Although he has the same beret from the day before, he’s wearing a beige overcoat today, with a white button-up and black slacks. Somehow, he still looks like a model, one of those you would see in magazines posing next to random furniture.

But he has no time to waste today. The teasing yesterday was fun, but with him warming up to the bookstore environment in under 24 hours, he needs to find a way out before he gets lost amongst the books.

So, he straightens up and rolls back his shoulders, walking up to Byungchan with a confidence he could never have garnered, not even for a school presentation.

He knocks on the counter lightly, wincing at the impact against the knuckles despite how little weight he had put into it.

Byungchan looks up. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering,” he starts. He has his hands behind his back, fingers fidgeting as he shifts his weight from side to side. “I just wanted to know if you remember which books I picked out yesterday. I can’t remember all the titles.”

“Did you want to buy them? One? Five? Ten? Tell me, how many?”

“I, uh, I guess, just five.” He regrets his answer immediately. He probably lacks the cash to pay for all of it, and even if he does manage to get his wallet back, he should be saving up for other important expenses, like textbooks and meals.

Byungchan immediately kneels down, and disappears beneath the counter, popping back up a few seconds later with five books in his hand. “Here, I just picked the ones from the bottom of the stack. I’m assuming you would’ve prioritized those.”

He gives a small nod, but when he checks the stack to look at the titles, he realizes the only book he was intent on keeping is missing. “Where’s the Gatsby book?”

“Ah, about that…” Byungchan drifts off. He scratches his head, lowering his chin as he speaks up again. “Our conversation yesterday made me want to go back and reread. I was doing it while organizing some boxes so I must’ve left it on one of the shelves. Sorry…”

“Mm, it’s fine.” Subin abandons the stack on the counter and heads toward the closest shelf on the right, starting his search for _The Great Gatsby_.

He has no luck as he searches through the shelves, sometimes even pulling out a book here and there to make sure the slip-on covers weren’t just mixed up. Occasionally, he finds a book he might be interested in, and when that happens, he takes his phone out to write the title down. Maybe the school library has some of the books he wants. If not, he can always go to the central library to find a more complete collection of books.

As he wanders around, even double checking every shelf he arrives at, there’s a book sticking out like a sore thumb, calling out to him.

_Left side of the store, third row from the front, in the middle of the row._ Right where he had found the copy yesterday, except now it’s on the top shelf, far from his reach.

The cover is glaring at him from afar, with shiny gold lettering used for the title. He steers in the direction of the book, his feet planted right in front as he stares up at it. He stretches his arm upwards, hands barely brushing the top shelf. As he’s about to step onto the lower shelf, he realizes what a horrible idea that would be, considering this store has only been here for a week or so, and he would have to pay way more if the entire thing toppled down.

He walks around the store, looking to see if there is a short stool. Even with Byungchan’s height, he should be providing one, in case he has too many customers to take care of at once. He shakes his head. The owner probably purposely picked a store location where it could pick up just enough customers for him to swoop in at the right time, sneak in a pick up line or two, grab a book from the top shelf when someone can’t reach it in order to make them swoon. That’s the only plausible explanation he can think of for Byungchan not having even one stepping stool in the store.

Subin walking around is distracting because at some point, Byungchan looks up from his work and asks, “Did you need anything?”

“No,” he quickly responds. “Just- just looking around. In case I want to buy more later.” He ducks between two shelves to hide from Byungchan’s gaze, and slips back to where _The Great Gatsby_ is. He sighs in frustration, tiptoeing in an attempt to reach the book. Again and again, he fails, even when he seems so close to getting a hold of it.

He tries another attempt—this will be the last, he tells himself. He barely brushes his fingers against the cover, before landing back on the ground, this time bumping into someone, namely Byungchan. The older holds him steady, caging him between the shelves, as he reaches up with his other hand to take the book off the shelf.

“Here,” he says gently, lips barely brushing against Subin’s ear. The younger shudders from the close contact and proximity, aware that Byungchan can see his face, his ears turning a bright pink.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. He turns around and leans against the shelf gently while Byungchan stays in place and looks him straight in the eye, showing no signs of movement. But he likes it, maybe a little too much. The warmth he has never felt blooming in his chest, the comfort of platonic and intimate skinship. He stands firmly in place, trying to distract himself by focusing on the book instead.

The cover seems to have been made of recycled paper, with a few coffee stains here and there. There’s a white lighthouse painted to the right of the title, a faint green light threatening to blend into the brown cover. When he turns the pages, he finds a few scribbles here and there.

The more he turns the pages, the louder his giggles become. “Can I-” he says in between laughs. “Can I buy this copy instead?”

“Even if it’s more expensive?”

Subin pauses. Is it really worth it? “Yeah, sure.”

“And you trust me not to charge you over a hundred?”

He looks at him in shock, unable to register the price. “I mean-”

“I’m kidding!” Byungchan reaches up to pinch his cheeks. “It’s the same price as the other copies. With a few bonuses,” he adds.

“And what might they be?” Subin inquires. He lifts his chin a little to make eye contact, trying to hold it despite the way his hands are shaking.

“Mm, you can check when you leave the store.” The book is snatched from Subin’s hands, and Byungchan only waves as he leaves him standing there. The younger snaps out of his daze and follows after, staring as the older dips below the counter yet again and appears with a box in hand, carefully placing the book inside it.

“This is extra…”

Byungchan raises an eyebrow at him. “You want the book to get ruined on the first day of buying it?”

He scowls. “It’s a waste of resources.”

“And I have way too many of these,” Byungchan retaliates. He points to a tall stack of boxes in the corner, each with a different design. “I can’t keep these around forever.”

He only hums in response, mind already drifting elsewhere. To Byungchan, giving out a box is probably nothing. But to Subin? It means a lot, whether it be from a stranger or a friend. Hell, when was the last time he got a present due to someone’s kindness and not because it was expected? He vows he will have to pay Byungchan back sooner or later, in some other form, but first, he needs his wallet.

“Do you not like the box? You seem unsatisfied.”

“No, no, it’s just-”

“All of them are ugly?” Byungchan cuts in.

“Can you please shut up for once and let me finish?” The taller looks at him with widened eyes, mouth agape. Then he shuts his lips, pulling them into a small smile, and gestures for him to continue. “I was wondering if you knew where my wallet is.”

The other’s eyes light up. He disappears in a flash toward the back, leaving Subin staring after him in confusion. Moments later, he comes back, Subin’s wallet in hand. “You left it here yesterday when you ran out.”

He takes it, sighing. “I figured. Did you look inside?” He bites his lip, anticipating his response, but he’s only given a smirk. He ignores it, instead taking his card out and handing it to Byungchan.

When Subin is handed the receipt, he glances over the price. He looks up and gives a skeptical look to Byungchan, who just shrugs and leaves him by the counter, going back to organizing the shelves.

Seeing Byungchan isn’t willing to say anything more, he grabs the box and cradles it in the arms, and pushes open the door, bringing himself in the direction of the subway station.

* * *

The first thing that comes to mind as Subin enters the subway is to find a rather secluded car. He walks to the end of the line, where there’s only one other person standing in line. He politely nods, but when the car door opens, he rushes to the seat in the farthest corner.

He lets the box sit on his lap as he opens his wallet. As he sifts through his stack of cards and cash, he finds a wrinkled piece of paper sticking out. He unfolds it and he can’t help but smile as he reads what it says:

_Hey cutie, text me XXX-XXX-XXXX._

He stuffs his wallet into his backpack but keeps the crumbled paper in his hand. He goes ahead and opens the box and flips through the book, trying to relive the moment from earlier. Unconsciously, his hand flies up to the back of his neck, ashamed of thinking about Byungchan’s breath against his skin. When he gets to the back of the book, there’s another strip of paper tucked into the cover, this time smooth and brand new. It reads:

_Do you want our first date to be at my bookstore or would you like to go out for a proper meal?_

He laughs, a little too loudly for the only other person in the car is staring at him like he’s insane. He bows his head in apology and sinks a little further into his seat as he whips his phone out, texting the number.

_Our first date can be anywhere as long as we’re going on another one after. And only if you let me pay for the book. I wasn’t aware it was free of charge._

**Author's Note:**

> woohoo a rare pair !!
> 
> edit: err super late but here's my [twt](https://twitter.com/keylimefloat) and [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/keylimefloat) but I don't rlly post about victon oops


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